I am frequently irritated at other humans for their inability to empathize with people who are different. In the process, I completely miss the fact that I’m also failing at empathy.
A couple years ago, I came to an appointment with my therapist, excited to tell her a funny story that happened earlier. There’s a local politician, Mulva, whom I disliked. My therapist and I agreed on a lot of issues, so I figured she’d think the story was funny, too. Mulva had been going door-to-door to drum up support for her issue, and when she got to my house, I vehemently expressed my lack of interest, cut her off when she tried to argue, and shut the door in her face. I heard her say in a tiny voice, “You’re very rude…” as the door clicked shut.
Man, I told her! I regaled Nancy with this story, and I can’t remember her exact response, but it wasn’t what I’d expected. In a matter of seconds, I went from being proud of myself for standing up to the nasty teabagger to sobbing hysterically as I realized that I really was a complete shit to that woman. I was a bully.
Apparently, it was quite an impressive transformation as Nancy brought it up often after that, how amazing it was that I realized what I’d done so quickly. I was absolutely mortified every time. I didn’t tell her I was mortified, because praise is praise, and I am still desperate for approval.
I thought I had it figured out at that point. I made a mistake. I was wrong and bad and needed to change. I needed to become that person who can empathize with everyone and never, ever gossip or have a bad word to say about anyone. I needed to be gracious and kind to all people, even the assholes. I probably should have told her how mortified I was, because we would have discussed it further, and maybe it would have saved me a lot of inner cringing.
Today, I realized that I did not, in fact, have this stuff figured out. I was reading a discussion about bullying—what it is, what it isn’t, whether the victim brings it on themselves. Another commenter argued that these days, the victims are more often the bullies and that he can’t even go into a feminist forum and correct them about their bigotry towards white men without getting shouted down.
Initially I wanted to respond and call the guy out, but I decided to give it a little thought.
When I get annoyed with others’ opinions, it often doesn’t really occur to me to think about why they believe what they do. Who cares? I’m right, they’re wrong, their opinions are bad, and they should feel bad. I should try not to be rude in response, though, because that behavior is wrong. So, I wanted to try to formulate a response that got my point across but without being a total jerk. I thought about how this guy barged into the feminists’ discussion and called them wrong, and as a group they responded negatively. What did he expect? That’s not bullying; that’s the expected outcome of being a jerk on the internet.
But what if this was, for instance, a gay man coming into a discussion by anti-gay Christians? Should he feel bullied when the probable backlash occurs? My initial impulse would probably be to say yes. What’s the difference between that situation and the situation of the guy who feels bullied by the feminists? The difference in my mind is the adverse societal impact beliefs like those of conservative Christians has on gays. The gay man really is being harmed, so it’s understandable when he lashes out. Hurt people hurt people. But the man isn’t being hurt by the feminists, right? He’s just being a dick and denying his white male privilege!
Here’s what I realized that blew my mind: When the man hears people talk about privilege, he feels like he’s being accused of wrongdoing. He feels that he’s done nothing wrong, and he’s right—he hasn’t done anything wrong, really. His only crime is not understanding what privilege is and failing to comprehend the issue from the point of view of the feminists. So, he’s hurt and lashes out at the feminists, who in turn are hurt because they interpret his anger not as misunderstanding, but as a refusal to acknowledge his privileged status, and they respond unkindly. He feels even more hurt. He feels bullied and misunderstood, and from his point of view, that’s completely logical. Communication is shut down, and they are at an impasse because of their mutual failure to empathize.
This is human nature, though. We’re tribal animals. We all harbor racism and sexism and prejudices toward people who don’t share our worldview. When an outsider barges in and disparages our group, our reaction is going to be negative. Our instinct is not to stop and listen and think; it’s to blindly defend our tribe from the intruder.
The picture above was taken in 1996 by photojournalist Mark William Brunner at a Ku Klux Klan rally. Every time I see it, I’m moved. Before this picture was taken, before the protesters turned violent, Keshia Thomas was part of the angry mob. In the midst of chaos and passion, she was able to recognize what was about to happen was wrong, and she stood against her “tribe” and protected the interloper.
This is what I didn’t get before: treating Mulva unkindly didn’t mean I was a bad person. It just meant I’m a person–a normal, flawed person, just like Keshia Thomas, the feminists, the man who feels bullied by the feminists, and even Mulva.
The perfectly gracious saint doesn’t exist. I’m always going to have those judgmental thoughts, and I am going to slip up sometimes and call the asshole an asshole. The trick isn’t aiming to be that impossible person. I can’t. The trick is recognizing that my thoughts and feelings do not dictate my behavior. I can be infuriated by some men’s rights activist’s bullshit (that is, in fact, a pretty common condition I find myself in), but I can choose to put that anger aside and try to understand him, and maybe, if we’re very lucky, he’ll do the same for me.
Mishell Knoess is originally from Iowa and moved to the Redding area in 2005. She is a medical transcriptionist, a student, and a volunteer counselor for a crisis hotline. She has a husband, two cats and a fish named Emilio.
